


Wax/Wane

by skivvysupreme



Series: The Wax Verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Cheerio Kurt, Jock Blaine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel is a vampire. Blaine Anderson is a werewolf. This is how they help each other deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wax/Wane

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place somewhere around "The Purple Piano Project," canon-wise.
> 
> (This series is written out of order. If you'd like a chronological list, I'm on tumblr under the same name, and have a masterpost for this verse which notes the story order!)

“Kurt, come on. Take some.”

“No.”

“Just a little bit. Like a sip.”

“You have an odd definition of what a sip looks like.”

“Coach Sylvester will have your ass if you’re—”

“Coach Sylvester can _kiss_ my ass. She doesn’t scare me. Get your arm out of my face,” Kurt hissed.

Blaine sat back a little on the locker room bench and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Kurt had missed his usual morning feed; Burt was in Washington, Carole was still on a shift at the hospital, and Finn had taken advantage of both facts by spending the night at Rachel’s. Now, between the hunger and the ensuing headache, Kurt was getting crabby and sluggish, and his already pale complexion had taken on a sickly, grayish tint that made his red Cheerios uniform look garish against his skin. Kurt liked to keep his vampire needs separate from the rest of his life, and so refused to feed at school, but this was ridiculous, Blaine thought, given the increasing urgency of the situation, and frankly, it was pissing Blaine off.

“Fine.” Blaine’s voice inched a little higher as he spat, “Pass out while you’re lifting Brittany above your head and maaaybe I can stop Santana before she tries to kill you. You don’t smell right, by the way.”

Kurt’s eyes, whose irises were turning a funny purple as more red seeped into the blue-green, went narrow. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry, I don’t want you to pass out, I’d stop her—”

Kurt flicked a hand impatiently, his other hand busy rubbing his temple. “No, stop, I know. What was that about how I smell?”

Blaine froze. “Oh. Um. It’s just… you usually smell like sugar and new pennies under your cologne. When you’re fed, I mean. Right now you’re like… um, you know when cabbage cooks too long?”

The silence stretched on until Blaine got uncomfortable.

“I love you?”

Kurt snorted. “You smell like a wet dog under a Christmas tree, this close to the moon.” He laughed until he laughed too hard, and the pounding in his head got worse. He pressed his palms against his forehead and doubled over. “Oh, shit… I—I love you too, by the way… ugh, god…”

Blaine whined and scooted back over to him.

“I almost — Rachel was going on about trying to revive Spring Awakening when she gets to Broadway and she was so excited, and I could hear her heart and it was beating so fast and so… beautifully, and I almost— I need— but doing that here, I can’t—”

“Kurt, please? You can’t see yourself right now. This is too far. I’m worried.”

“I—I don’t wanna take too much from you before practice…”

“The full moon’s tomorrow, I’m as amped as I can get without turning. You could even take more than usual and I’d be fine. And you know blood from me has that extra oomph. Please take it.” He put his warm hands on either side of Kurt’s neck and traced under his bottom lip with his thumb, then turned Kurt towards him. Blaine tilted his head until his neck was on display and ran a finger down the vein that usually popped out when he stretched his neck this way.

Kurt sighed and looked around the locker room. It was empty, of course, as the football team had gone out to the field five minutes ago and the other two male Cheerios had been gone for ten. “But we’ve never… not when you’re this close. This won’t do anything weird, will it?”

Blaine raised his eyebrows to right angles and tilted his head back further.

“Mmm, had to ask.” Kurt got up and sat back down again to straddle the bench, then wrapped an arm around Blaine’s back—a more awkward maneuver than usual with Blaine’s football padding—and pulled him in closer. His upper canines extended, and his eyes, whites and all, went completely black. He put his other hand around the back of Blaine’s ungelled head and said, “Don’t move too much this time. We can’t get blood on your jersey. Definitely not on my uniform.”

Blaine grinned, rested his hands on Kurt’s thighs, and waited.

Kurt grazed the points of his teeth over the skin until he found the right spot, then quickly sank them in and removed them to let the blood collect at the surface. He sealed his lips over the neat little punctures and sucked, and Blaine tensed a little like he always did despite his extra strength. The moment the blood ran hot down Kurt’s throat, his headache vanished. He took a big gulp and moaned in relief; Blaine was right, his blood carried an extra punch, and a rush of warmth that he only ever associated with Blaine. Not only was Kurt quickly coming back to normal, but he felt that telltale tingle that came from feeding on his superhuman boyfriend.

Blaine felt the weird pulling sensation under his skin that always came with this experience, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, not with the full moon so close and his body thrumming with power. A sharp, thick scent filled his nose—a scent he knew and hated accordingly—and he could hear a pair of heavy footsteps coming down the hall, approaching the locker room. Kurt, having fed enough to sustain himself but not having noticed the oncoming intrusion, started to pull away. Blaine moved his hands to Kurt’s waist to keep him close and said, “You can have more, if you want. I’m good.” And he was, it seemed; he suddenly felt his wolf stronger than ever.

Kurt kissed Blaine’s jaw appreciatively, leaving a little blood behind, and went back to his neck.

Blaine counted in his head: Three… two…

The locker room door opened and Karofsky walked in. Blaine locked eyes with him for a few seconds before Kurt detached himself. Kurt looked up at Blaine, who nodded but kept his eyes on Karofsky, and Karofsky glowered right back at him.

Kurt licked over the wound a few times to close it, until all that remained was a blotchy hickey. Then, with his back to the door as his teeth retracted and his eyes returned to normal, Kurt said, “Hello, David.”

Karofsky nodded his greeting. He looked at Blaine, down to his neck and back up to his face, and Blaine could smell his spike of rage before he heard it trembling in his voice. “Missed a spot,” Karofsky said.

Blaine put on a polite smile. “Thanks for the heads-up. Where—ugh, Kurt, can you get it?”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry, let me just…” Kurt leaned forward with his mouth open, then stopped and clamped it shut, as if he’d meant to just lick off the dry patch of blood and be done with it, but thought better of it.

Blaine knew Karofsky had caught that movement too, because the mix of envy and aggression now coming off him was unmistakable to Blaine’s senses. He smiled at Kurt and tilted his jaw towards him, and Kurt licked his thumb and rubbed at the spot. Blaine met eyes with Karofsky before glancing back down at Kurt’s face. His skin had flushed back to its regular color and his eyes were bright and clear. Blaine preened a little, knowing he’d done that for him.

Karofsky grabbed his gear from his gym locker, then slammed the locker door shut and snarled, “See you on the field, Anderson.” He stormed out of the locker room, and Blaine listened until he couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore.

“Blaine.”

Damn. Blaine knew that tone. Sure enough, when he looked back at Kurt, there was a stern glare to match it.

“Him knowing about me was an accident. Don’t abuse it because you feel like marking your territory. He doesn’t know about you and we are keeping it that way, got it?”

The day Karofsky chose to explain his hatred of Kurt by grabbing his face and forcing their lips together was the day Karofsky met his first angry vampire. The kiss had lasted about three seconds before Kurt’s instincts overtook his shock. Karofsky found himself pinned against the gym lockers with his toes dangling two feet off the floor, looking down at a Kurt with all-black eyes and fangs who was hissing like a feral cat. He kept his distance after that.

Blaine wiped a drop of blood from the corner of Kurt’s mouth instead of saying anything on the matter, because he needed time to push away the image of really marking Kurt, the way they both liked, while Karofsky watched. Then he had to remind himself that Kurt was not his “territory.” The wolf sometimes did unfortunate things to his rational human thought. “Feeling better?” he asked after another quiet moment, cupping Kurt’s cheek.

“Much, thank you. Your blood is… mmm. It’s never been this good, honestly.”

“It’s the moon. Told you.”

Kurt sighed, and dropped a little kiss onto Blaine’s outstretched wrist. “I shouldn’t have let it get that bad, I just…”

“Yeah, but you’re okay now.”

Kurt stood from the bench and held out a hand for Blaine, who took it and followed him as he walked backwards towards the exit. “Nothing on me, right?” Kurt asked.

Blaine swept his eyes around Kurt’s mouth and chin and said, “Nope, I just got the last of it. How about me?”

“No. You stayed good and still this time.” Kurt stopped just before they reached the door and touched the bruise on Blaine’s neck. No one would notice the two, slightly darker circles in the mark unless they were looking for them. The sight of it always thrilled Kurt, because for as much crap as he gave Blaine for his territorial tendencies, he could see where he’d taken the very blood he felt tingling in his veins and all he could think at that moment was, Mine.

“Kurt.”

“Hmm?”

The smug grin on Blaine’s face said it all, but he chose to elaborate. “What were you saying about marking terri—”      

Kurt kissed him, effectively shutting him up, and Blaine’s hand tightened around his. Kurt pulled away first, but only far enough to sigh against Blaine’s lips and say, “Stop distracting me. We’re late.”

They parted ways when they reached the field, with Kurt squinting in the sunlight but feeling better than he usually would in the wake of his boost from Blaine. Coaches Sylvester and Bieste yelled at both of them.

"Porcelain, must I remind you of the time I had my entire top row of teeth replaced with ceramic duplicates over a lunch period and still made it to practice on time?"

"Anderson, this ain’t siesta time at the dairy farm, make like a goat and hoof it!" She bleated for emphasis.

Kurt and Blaine exchanged a look and went off in their respective directions. Santana immediately linked arms with Kurt once he was close enough and leered suggestively at Blaine. She whispered in Kurt’s ear (and sometimes Blaine couldn’t stand how much he could hear), “Try being more obvious next time,” to which Kurt merely shrugged and smiled coyly. Santana cackled, looked back at Blaine, and said, “Wanky little puppy. I see you.”

Blaine smiled to himself as he approached where his teammates were stretching. He was the kicker, and his practices usually consisted of leg exercises and test kicks, so after warming up with the team, he would take the half of the field where the others weren’t scrimmaging. Having super-strength didn’t give him a leg-up, as it were; instead,  it made it harder to kick accurately the closer he got to the full moon. Between that and the constant distractions his enhanced senses of hearing and smell provided, a game that fell on the moon became a frustrating inconvenience, and today, for some odd reason, felt worse than usual.

At that moment, Blaine could smell exactly how many of his teammates had skipped showers that morning (twelve), how many Cheerios had skipped meals (seven, not including Kurt), and every other passing scent that wafted over to him. Like the hormones shooting off Karofsky as he watched Kurt stretch with the Cheerios, for instance.

Blaine sat on the grass with his legs straight out in front of him and touched his toes, all the while watching the sidelines where Kurt was doing the same. Except Kurt’s legs were spread, the bottoms of his red and white sneakers planted against the bottoms of Brittany’s white ones as she mirrored him. Blaine looked back at Karofsky and weighed his options, because his skin was itching with wolf and he was quickly being overwhelmed with the need to do something less than human. Maybe he could just growl in Karofsky’s stupid face and let his eyes flash a bit to scare him. Or maybe he could just bite the back of Kurt’s neck in front of Karofsky, just to show him what was what and discourage his incessant leering.

When he saw that his teammates were circling around Coach Bieste for their first play, Blaine picked up his designated bag of footballs and went to the opposite goal post to start his exercises. He passed as close to Karofsky as he could and made a point to bump his shoulder. If he growled a little, it was purely by accident, of course.

“Watch it, Anderson,” Karofsky snapped, shoving back. Then his eyes went wide and he glanced over his shoulder at the sidelines. They both saw Kurt stare at them for a moment, clearly not pleased and looking concerned, but then he turned away from their display and went to help Brittany into some complicated formation. Karofsky clenched his fist in Blaine’s general direction and stalked off to the huddle, grunting in impotent fury the whole way.

Blaine wanted to toss his head back and howl with the small victory. He flexed his fingers a few times, his heart racing and his muscles starting to cramp with the need to turn. No— oh no, not to turn, not here, oh, fuck—

He was panting before he knew it. Now he was at the goal post and no one could see him up close; hoping it looked like he was just psyching himself up, he started pacing and shaking his limbs out to try and calm himself down. It wasn’t working, he could feel how much it wasn’t working. He let out a whine that was more canine than it should have been and tried staying still instead. When he was scared, he liked to turn and leave his human fears behind, but now that instinct was the thing propelling the fear. He didn’t know how to stop it, and that was the worst part. He prided himself on his ability to stay contained, and now it was like whatever it was that kept him human was…

…was given to Kurt, to keep _him_ more human, ten minutes ago.

Oh.

Again, Blaine weighed his options.

He wanted to run to Kurt, or run under the bleachers, or run inside, but running while he was like this would only trigger his aching bones to contort themselves into something that could run faster. He could stay where he was and try to wait it out, but Karofsky was upwind, and the scent was between him and his mate and he still wanted to pin Karofsky to the ground, get him on his back and snap his considerable teeth in his face — no, he didn’t have those teeth yet, but the more he thought about them, the more his gums started to tingle.

Blaine’s options were staying on the field, or moving; he couldn’t do either, and he was running out of time.

He heard a girl scream, and looked up in time to see Brittany hit the grass — and there was Santana, yelling in Spanish and shoving people out of her way to get to her. She shoved Kurt, and he backed away with his hands over his mouth, his eyes cartoonishly wide. The other Cheerios crowded around Santana and Brittany, and Coach Bieste and the football team started moving in their direction, too. Everyone was blurring in the commotion.

Blaine’s head was spinning the way it always did right before he shifted mindsets. He was losing his hold on what was happening, and he was still shaking and pulling at his jersey and trying not to turn when Kurt suddenly appeared in front of him.

“She’s fine. Look at me.”

Cold hands rested firmly on either side of Blaine’s neck and thumbs massaged his jaw. Blaine nodded, whimpering, and tears sprang to his eyes with how much it hurt not to turn. He couldn’t even make his mouth form words at that point.

“Shhh, you’re okay. I can see it happening, I know. You’re okay. Mirror me. Focus as much as you can.”

Kurt, still clutching Blaine, took a step forward, and Blaine, following his lead, took a step back.

“Deep breath. Breathe in…”

He could smell himself on Kurt. Pine needles and sugary cinnamon and new pennies and even that wet dog smell and _Kurt_ _._

“…and breathe out. There you go. Breathe in… and breathe out.”

They repeated this until Kurt had backed them under the bleachers farthest from everyone else on the field, where the view was completely obscured. Kurt pulled them both down until they were on their knees in the dirt and ran his hands through Blaine’s hair. Then he started undressing him, and Blaine followed his lead until everything was on the ground. Kurt smiled reassuringly at Blaine, who was still trembling but not as badly as he’d been a minute ago, and said, “Now.”

There was another whimper, and then there were cracking and popping sounds. A moment later, a large black and gray wolf with bright yellow eyes was snuffling into Kurt’s chest. Blaine flumped to the ground with a huff of relief and rested his head on Kurt’s lap.

Kurt dug his fingers into the fur behind Blaine’s ears and under his chin. He wasn’t petting him, just holding the fur quietly as Blaine came down from his frenzy. After a minute or so, he asked, “Okay?”

Blaine licked his wrist in response.

“I could taste that something was off but I couldn’t tell what it was until you started being more… well, wolfy than usual.”

Blaine tucked his nose in closer to Kurt’s body.

“Yes, I know, I was right. The timing was wrong, I took too much, and it did something weird to you.”

Blaine lifted his head and stared at Kurt. Kurt could see the lighter, triangular patches of fur above Blaine’s eyes twitching and he fought back giggles.

“You let me do it so you could take care of me, I know. I didn’t realize how bad it was until it was happening. You were right about that, I let it go too far.”

Blaine’s tongue dropped out of his mouth as he panted happily.

Kurt laughed. Now he was petting behind Blaine’s ears. “Santana’s right, you’re such a puppy. And we owe her and Brittany for that stunt, by the way.”

No one but Bieste and Karofsky seemed to notice Blaine’s disappearance from practice that day, and Kurt let everyone assume that he’d felt so guilty over dropping Brittany that he’d excused himself for the afternoon. Neither coach bought the excuses. They demanded to know where Kurt and Blaine had gone, but when the boys brought in their uniforms for the weekly laundry and dry-cleaning hauls, and the coaches saw the dirt and grass stains on the knees of the polyester pants, no one asked any more questions.


End file.
